


We're All Adrift Together

by QuickSilverFox3



Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: Autistic Newt Scamander, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, minor relationship - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-22
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 04:40:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24857755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuickSilverFox3/pseuds/QuickSilverFox3
Summary: Recovery isn't an easy path and all of three of them need to learn in this strange and uncertain world.-The glass fell, slipping through crooked fingers; and Credence stretched out to catch it — hand stretching out as he was used to doing, fear making him clumsy — before his magic exploded from his skin, black and sharp, his tight control slipping for just a moment.
Relationships: Credence Barebone & Newt Scamander, Credence Barebone & Original Percival Graves, Original Percival Graves/Newt Scamander
Comments: 6
Kudos: 117





	We're All Adrift Together

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Ilvermony School of Witchcraft and Wizardry Summer Assignment  
> Tasl: Write about trust issues  
> Prompts: [action] Crying, [word] Consequences, [song] Beautiful Times

It happened too slowly and too fast, a distorted blur that shifted with every attempt at recall.

The glass fell, slipping through crooked fingers; and Credence stretched out to catch it — hand stretching out as he was used to doing, fear making him clumsy — before his magic exploded from his skin, black and sharp, his tight control slipping for just a moment.

A moment was all it took. 

Smoke given substance lashed out — the crack of a belt in it’s movements, the same sinuous shift that had ripped through flesh and wood and stone as if they were one and the same — and the glass exploded into a thousand tiny glittering pieces. 

Broken glass was nothing new to Credence — he knew its deep burning cuts on the soft flesh of his hands, the starbursts of pain on the soles of his feet. But this was different. 

Cold fear spread it’s fingers in his chest, and gripped his heart, halting its frantic pounding, a distant ringing in his ears. He had to run, had to hide—

The others would have heard the noise, could hear the noise of the low keening rumbling through his chest as tears poured down his cheeks, broken glass blurring in front of him into a twisted rainbow. Credence couldn’t move, feet rooted to the floor, trembling as bile rose in his throat, hot and acidic — burning him like the purifying fires of Hell. 

The glass belonged to Mr Graves — old and irreplaceable the man had said, voice fond and tinged with nostalgia that twisted Credence’s stomach at the memory of it, too fragile to be repaired with spellwork. And Credence had broken it.

Credence tipped his head back to the sky — dark storm clouds brewing overhead through the watchful eye of the domed window — and screamed.

⁂

Newt caught himself on the doorframe — hand knocking into the rich oak wood, bruising against the delicate carvings — and stared in wordless disbelief at the scene in front of him. 

Every room in the house was large and empty, well cared for shown in the absence of dust and other smaller creatures that swarmed empty houses — spiders and moths, clustering the high empty corners where eyes didn’t pass; doxies and chizpurfles and bundimums swarming as they were drawn to the scent of stagnant magic — but it felt lonely. Graves — Percival if Newt wanted to see that momentary crack in his businesslike facade, a brief sigh that hid a twist of his lips; Percy if Newt wanted to see the man break, cogs stuttering to a halt for only a single moment — had not lived in his childhood home for years, preferring the quiet anonymity of No-Maj boarding houses.

But the damage done by Grindlewald required a permanent place of residence to heal; and so Graves had graciously opened the doors of his family home to Credence (permanently), and to Newt (under the guise of waiting until the slow wheel of democracy turned and decided on his fate). It was an uneasy truce, as Graves pretended not to notice the host of highly illegal animals beneath his roof — stealing back his prized silverware from the Niffler before carefully returning it into Newt’s waiting arms — and Credence slunk around the house like a shadow, convinced that everything would be snatched away from him once more, terrified of saying or doing something wrong. 

Newt knew a thousand and one ways to calm magical beasts; could list the intricacies of Japanese tsukumogami and the objects they originated from for long enough to lull even the eternally watchful Graves into sleep. He  _ knew _ magical beasts. People were more complicated. 

It was as if there was a piece of Newt missing, small yet essential, that would allow him to work out why. It seemed effortless to everyone else, the strange intricacies of human interaction, and yet Newt was always two steps behind, fumbling through a barrier that never seemed to affect anyone else. 

Newt’s gaze passed from the broken glass, to Credence — smoke billowing through his skin, blurring his lines in a storm of raw magic and human pain; shifting between a rolling jagged smoke and pale skin until they were one and the same. Tears spilled down his cheeks like rain, lost in the instant they dripped from the sharp edge of his jaw into the brewing storm. The hair on the back of Newt’s neck rose as he took a cautious step forward, tasting the ozone layered thickly on the air.

“Credence!”

⁂

The sting of the belt across his hands—

Biting cold chewing at already frozen skin, red and cracking—

Kind eyes gone cold with disappointment, smile twisted into a frown—

Couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe—

All his fault. It was all his fault. 

⁂

Newt applied the wards as he ran — layered them thick and heavy over his head and torso with every step, world blurring in front of him — and then applied them again as Credence’s magic lashed against them, sending cracks radiating through them. 

Credence groaned, arms turning to smoke and back again, wrapping them around his head to shield himself from the expected blows, eyes black and glimmering with inky tears; Newt’s heart breaking with every step as Credence curled further in on himself, moved away from Newt.

“It’s okay,” Newt murmured, heart slamming against his ribs as Credence’s magic whipped at his arms and face, seeking the smallest crack to disappear away, “Credence, it’ll be okay.”

Credence keened, storm ebbing and Credence leant further into Newt’s embrace, hands clawing at the fabric of his shirt, tears soaking the fabric.

“Are you hurt?”

Newt’s grip tightened on Credence as the other man flinched into him, eyes wide and unfocused, as Graves carefully knelt on his other side, mindful of the broken glass. Newt’s own knees pulsed with fresh bruises — too concerned with getting to Credence to consider the consequences of his own actions, adrenaline wearing off just enough for pain to spike through him, a distant ringing in his ears — and he grimaced in sympathy of Graves’ own shattered leg.

The Auror had barely lowered himself to the ground before he froze, every muscle tensing. His face still remained carefully blank, but Newt knew better — a slight tightening around the eyes, a muscle clenching in his jaw as he swallowed down the urge to scream, refusing to give his captors the satisfaction — but Graves pushed through the memories, shifting to rest his bad leg straight. 

Graves glanced over Newt — quick and methodical and yet, Newt felt himself flush, quickly dropping his gaze — before turning to Credence.

“Credence, are you hurt?”

Graves voice was firm, pausing as he reached out for Credence, Grindlewald pressing his way to the forefront of his thoughts—

“I’m f-fine,” Credence managed to say, almost gagging on the words as he spat them out, tears clustering at the corners of his eyes, looking as if every word was painful, “I’m s-s-s, I-I’m sorry—”

He broke off into a huge gasping breath, eyes as wide as Galleons in his pale face, nails digging into Newt’s arms as Newt rocked him reflexively, mind panicked and blank. 

“He’s not hurt?” Graves asked Newt over Credence’s bowed head, carefully resting his hands — gloved as always, a slight tremor hidden as he pressed the soft leather into his knees — on his injured leg, a mess of bone and metal and pale new skin. 

“I don’t think so. It looked like more of a surprise than any injury,” Newt replied, resting his cheek against the top of Credence’s head, feeling him shudder with repressed sobs.

“Good,” Graves said with a sigh, “That’s the main thing.”

Credence froze. 

“You’re not mad?” Credence asked, voice barely louder than a whisper. He sat up, and Newt let him shift to the side, head still bowed, tears drying on his cheeks.

“I’m not mad,” Graves confirmed, clearly and quickly. He glanced at Newt — both thinking of the scars layered over Credence’s back and legs, silvery white with barely an inch of skin left untouched; knowing what the other had been thinking of as a consequence of his mistake — and carefully reached out to cup Credence’s jaw, wiping away his tears.

Credence let out a soft noise, leaning into Graves’ touch, still tensed as if to run away but craving more of something he couldn’t name. Newt carefully nodded at Graves over Credence’s head, reading the guilt the Auror carried in the deep lines of his face — knowing that Graves could see the worry in his own. 

It was easy to forget — to get distracted by the sheer power Credence carried in his chest, that slipped out from his skin like a ghost — but Credence hung onto their every word, every action as if they hung the stars in the sky. It was a terrifying prospect, but they had to try and help Credence in whatever way possible. 

Newt stood carefully, wincing as he rubbed at his knees; catching the slightest twitch of Graves’ eyebrow and he couldn’t stop the laughter bubbling up in his throat.

“Come on, Credence,” Newt said, holding out his hands to Credence who took them reflexively, shoulders hunched, “Let’s get Percival back on his feet.”

Percival met Newt’s beam with a scowl — Newt felt his cheeks flush at the eye contact, fighting the urge to duck his own head to match Credence — but carefully extended his hands to the two other wizards, trusting them just as they trusted him, new and fragile but there. 


End file.
